


A Practical Sort of Hobbit

by ayaanle



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Pre-Canon, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-26
Updated: 2020-03-26
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:41:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23324920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ayaanle/pseuds/ayaanle
Summary: Sam muses on his life in the Shire, and adventuring while preparing for Bilbo Baggins's one-hundred eleventieth birthday party.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 3





	A Practical Sort of Hobbit

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Lori. Thank you! :)

Sam Gamgee considered himself a practical sort. 

He was perfectly fine surrounded by his garden, in his perfectly fine home, in his perfectly fine Shire. Most days he would even say it was more than perfectly fine - it was quite nice. The only adventure he needed could be found right at the Bagginses. All the adventures that he had, further than any hobbit ever went. Honestly, it sounded a bit fake. Just a bunch of hogwash that made a good story and scared away the Proudfeet, the Sackville-Bagginses, and Boffins. 

As a young Hobbit, Sam had aspired to these adventures. Sparring with Frodo using sticks as swords until Gaffer shouted at him to come back in, stop all that silliness, and come help with his siblings. Enough times, that Sam finally stopped looking for the perfect stick-sword, and learned instead how to dig his fingers into the rich earth. Forgotten were dreams of lands far beyond. 

Who needed singing dwarves and mountains and dragons and elves when he had his own companions. Radishes, beets, cabbages, potatoes, and carrots. He had his rhubarbs, leafy greens, and time with Frodo drinking ale and chatting about the going-ons. Although he was Bilbo Bagginses nephew, Frodo was a sensible type and Sam enjoyed every moment of their friendship more than he could put into words.

The Shire was now completely abuzz - Bilbo Baggins was having his 111th birthday. Each rumor about the party grander than the last. He was going to bring guests from his adventure - that he was going to share the secret of his youth, that they were going to dine on gold. It didn’t take much to get hobbits gossipping but this was busy even by Hobbiton standards. One hundred eleven was quite old for a hobbit but he didn’t look a day over seventy-five at least. Maybe eighty if he was having a bad day but how could a hobbit like Bilbo Baggins have a bad day? With all his adventures and - 

_ No, _ Sam chided himself. Adventuring was a very un-hobbit thought to have. By all accounts, the dragon nearly killed Mr. Bilbo. And the adventure in the mountains. And all sorts of other things. Honestly, what kind of companion were  _ dwarves _ to a hobbit. Tinkering about in their mountains and with their metals.

A garden was a proper thing to tinker with. Watering them, trimming, and pulling all the nasty weeds that tried to disrupt his hard work. That was something to be proud of. It was honest. Practical. 

Practical Sam Gamgee.

_ I suppose the elves have magnificent gardens, _ he thought. Everything he heard about elves at Bilbo’s knee sounded fantastical. He could learn a trick or two about plants and the earth from them. Even Gaffer would be pleased. None of his siblings could say they’d been trained by  _ elves _ . Did elves even talk to hobbits? Outside of Bilbo - since it seemed, Bilbo was one of those most extraordinary of hobbits. And Sam was ordinary. 

In preparation for Bilbo’s birthday, Sam was hired to clear out the empty lawn where it was being hosted - to replant any vegetation and make it suitable for all the (invited) members of the Shire to join them. So he invited Frodo along with him to help. 

“What do you suppose the party will be like?” he asked, hunting for more of those nasty weeds that kept popping up and destroying all his hard work. 

Frodo pondered this. “I’m not sure Sam. It’s so secret, even I can’t find out.” 

“So secret he won’t even tell  _ you _ ?” Sam exclaimed. Preposterous. “What has he got going on that’s so important he can’t even tell his nephew?”

“Who knows. Maybe he’ll bring some elves from Mirkwood,” Frodo said. 

_ Does he sound hopeful? _ Sam wondered, narrowing his eyes at a particularly stubborn patch of dandelions. The stray dandelion seeds got into his nose, making him sneeze and fuss.  _ This birthday party better be worth it, _ he said. If some loud-singing elves from Mirkwood were going to come, he hoped they at least brought food and ale. Sam had no idea how much elves ate and drank. It could be anywhere from nothing to everything under the sun.

_ I don’t suppose elves could fit onto the tables _ , he mused. They were mostly hobbit sized. Which made sense, seeing as hobbits mostly lived in the Shire and had a need for everything to be hobbit sized. Sam considered himself a perfectly average hobbit - height, girth, and interests. 

A practical, typical, hobbit. A hobbit-ish hobbit, if you will.

As the one hundred eleventieth birthday of Bilbo Baggins approached, Sam felt like the whole Shire was building towards… something. He wasn’t sure what, he wasn’t typically very good at figuring that out. He just knew it was happening. Most hobbits didn’t live quite that long, and in good health. 

The Shire wasn’t a place meant to change - the grass was always lush and green, the homes neat and the gardens beautiful. Sometimes news reached them via the hobbits that lived near Bree. Then the Shire hobbits would smoke their pipes and tut tut at all the mishaps that occured, and the adventurers that passed through. After all, a good, upstanding member of the Shire didn’t want  _ that _ sort around.

Sam agreed, somewhat. Sure, he would nod and listen along as they complained, boasting about their own peaceful existence. But, well. He loved Bilbo. And Frodo, especially. His best friend. 

Day by day, the Shire transformed into something magical - but an acceptable kind of magical for hobbits. Lanterns were strung about, and food was organized, and Bilbo shoved the door in the faces of nosey neighbors fishing for an invite. Sam was quite proud he already had an invitation. Even if he wasn’t some big adventurer, at the very least he was important enough to attend Bilbo’s birthday party.

The aroma of herbs, spices, and butter wafted through the open windows of hobbit homes early in the morning as Sam walked through the Shire. Young men raised the flags and banners, and set the tables in all the appropriate places. People who weren’t on the guest list were preparing to beg their way in. “Much as everyone pretends Mr. Bilbo is strange, they all certainly want to be there.” 

And after all the grumbling and groaning and petitioning against the whole affair - it was magnificent.

Sam was wide-eyed at the dazzling display of revelry that only Bilbo could pull together for his birthday. Merry-making, music, and none other than Gandalf himself. He may have been labeled a “disturber of the peace” but Sam thought he was always interesting, bringing goods. Better than some of the other guests that Bilbo sometimes had, very self-important and uninterested in hobbits. 

Gandalf had an appropriate respect of Hobbiton, Sam decided as he sipped his ale. It didn’t take long before one tankard of ale became two, then three, and Sam didn’t know which way was up or down, or if the fireworks were magical or well-engineered. He couldn’t do that with a radish. Maybe there really was more to life outside the Shire. The thought lingered until he danced with Rosie, all musings forgotten in the revelry. 


End file.
